


puzzled and riddled

by Charona



Category: Motorcycling RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Banter, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Confusion, Curse Breaking, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Hangover, Marc being clumsy, Minor Injuries, Supernatural Elements, Telepathic Bond, looking out for each other, lots of kind ofs here, non-slash, this is going to be interesting xD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2020-12-28 10:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charona/pseuds/Charona
Summary: Alex and Marc have always been connected by an incredibly tight bond – mentally and physically. They share dreams and passions, a home and a vision.In the beginning it’s just a hoax, pure lark. They agree to meet a famous mentalist and test their telepathic connection. They are surprised by its depth and even more by the magician’s invitation to roam the nightly streets of Barcelona with him.It is all fun and games – until it isn’t. Until they wake up the next morning, hungover and tired. Until Marc bumps his toe on the door frame and Alex yelps in pain. Until Alex cuts himself while shaving and Marc feels a sting on his cheek.They soon understand that their bond magically deepened over night to an extent that makes them feel every physical sensation the other one experiences. Pain. Hunger. Cold.Together, they try to find out what happened and how to solve the riddle as quickly as possible, before someone becomes suspicious, before the next race.On this journey, facing furious team bosses, ancient mythology and confused witches, they stumble upon new revelations about themselves, each other and their lives.





	1. The question is...

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks,
> 
> So this is a very strange idea, that kept me awake for hours yesterday night and I slowly but steadily formed into some kind of a story.  
It’s very weird and kind of AU, because of supernatural elements, but I tried to keep it simple and not put too much emphasis on it in general.  
The whole thing is based on this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyPvLAlI7PU&t=173s (it has subtitles, yeay^^), where Alex and Marc meet a mentalist and their extraordinary bond is tested in various ways. Let’s just ignore the possibility that this could very well be all fake and just a very good performance of non-professional actors, all right?  
Let's just pretend it is true to simplify matters. 
> 
> This is going to be Terry Pratchett-ish in some ways and we’ll meet characters, who may be slightly based on the Discworld novels/good omens (which is based on the Discworld universe), but it’s too vague to call it a crossover. 
> 
> Other than that, massive thanks to **RosaNautica** for all the help, banter, brainstorming and general understanding and motivation :D 
> 
> Have fun with this first chapter!

With thriving success their relationship is more and more the centre of attention and Alex is okay with it, but _this_ has gone too far. If it wasn’t for Marc, he wouldn’t have agreed to do it in the first place and now _this_. He rubs at his arms underneath the windbreaker to ease the goosebumps spreading on his skin, still sensing the remnants of warmth sticking to the fingertips so close to the candle.  
_That was scary_. 

Alex looks at Marc, who trots down the sidewalk next to him, and sees the same sensation flicker across his features he himself feels slithering underneath his skin. Surprise. Fear. Disbelieve.  
“Okay, what the hell just happened?” Marc suddenly erupts with a confused wave of his hand, pointing at everything and nothing at once, before staring up at his brother intently. “Did you really feel the touches?”  
“You know, I wouldn’t lie to you about it. And how was I supposed to tell how many and where?”  
Marc takes a deep breath and wipes his face. He throws a glance back at the office complex, where they shot the clip. Aversion mixed with reluctant wonder twirl in his eyes. “I don’t know, man, but that guy freaked me out.”  
“He was pretty cool, very calm and friendly. Do you think, it’s simple Psychology?” Alex stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets, protecting them from the sharp wind sweeping across the streets on a briskly cold autumn afternoon in Barcelona.  
“I don’t know.” Marc sighs for the fifth time in three minutes. “I’m as surprised as you are. I mean, I really smelled the oil. And what about that wheel?”  
“We’re riders, Marc, that was predictable.”  
“No, he could have chosen fuel or tar or coolant. It was oil and I smelled it. And about the wheel” he shrugs and adjusts the scarf around his neck. “We could have drawn gloves or a bike or a helmet. But I knew, you’d draw a wheel and so did you.”  
Alex shivers and sniffles. _El raval_ is still busy with tourists and delivery vehicles, but the huge blocks of sandstone swallow the noises of their sneakers.  
“I expected them to give us a script, to be honest. “Say this, say that”, but he just talked to us for five minutes and that was it. Apart from the obvious facts, he knew nothing about us and isn’t that some kind of basic pillar of Psychology? Getting to know people?”  
“That’s because it isn’t Psychology.”

Marc is so lost in his own rambling that he doesn’t see Javier approaching them and he huffs in surprise.  
“Hello, boys.” The mentalist says, a woollen coat draped around his shoulders and a flat cap topping his head. He looks more like an accountant than a magician. The plainness of his movements is what unsettles Alex the most, how easily his steps fall into sync with Marc’s and his. Back in the office there haven’t been any fireworks, any distractions from the magic happening. He can still feel the touch on his right shoulder – the spot where no one ever laid a hand on.  
“What is it then?” Marc asks and Alex can see the reluctance in his relentlessly working jaw. “Some kind of trick? Manipulation?”  
Javier smirks and shakes his head.  
“No, Marc, this is something else. You two have spent every single day of your life together, that’s over 23 years, 365 days _per annum_. I’ve known you for less than ten minutes. How was I supposed to manipulate you in any way? Don’t you think, Alex, that it’s quite logical for two brothers and especially as tightly knitted as you are, to feel everything the other one feels?”  
Alex bites his lips and contemplates the words, but Marc – fully taken up in his role as the sceptical older brother – scoffs sarcastically.  
“No, that doesn’t make any sense! How can I feel the heat of a burning candle, which has never been close to my hand? How did you do that?!”  
The smirk on Javier’s lips grows wider and a tad devious, when he places a hand on Marc’s shoulder and brings the three of them to a halt.  
“I like your scepticism, Marc. I felt it earlier, too, when you wouldn’t believe your own brother that I hadn’t touched him.” He scans Marc’s face with such intensity it makes Marc cast down his eyes. “Yeah, you have a very complex mind, but unfortunately you lack of creativity and imagination.” He lets go of Marc’s shoulder and winks at Alex. “Your brother is a stubborn grit, isn’t he?” Alex can’t bite back the snicker and Marc growls into his scarf.  
Javier looks at them both alternately before sighing.  
“You know what, why don’t you accompany me? Do you really want to know how deep your connection is? Do you want to know my secrets?”  
“Don’t you frauds all stick to this rule of not spilling your tricks?”  
Marc wrinkles his nose in hidden dislike, when the mentalist comes up to him and looks him dead in the eyes.  
“You’re a real doubter, aren’t you? Let’s see, if I can change your mind. Follow me.”

With that he turns around and crosses the street, that leads past the old town of Barcelona. _La Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulàlia_’s majestic belfries stick out from the other buildings and in the distance _La Sagrada Familia_ lifts its gigantic steeples into the darkening sky.  
Alex and Marc look at each other and both squint their eyes while wordlessly weighing their options.  
Marc bites his lips and Alex shrugs.  
Javier whistles and waves.  
“Come on, my friends, what could you possibly lose? But behold.” He bellows from across the street and lifts his arms with a theatrical gesture, the monumental buildings in the background serving as a dramatic scenery. “This night might change your world view forever.” 

“Do you really think, this is a good idea?” Marc asks and can’t give a name to the feeling sizzling underneath his skin. It makes a cold shiver run down his spine. Alex looks more excited than unnerved.  
“Hey, what could possibly go wrong? We have a free day tomorrow and a night out at home is long overdue. Who knows, we might learn something in the end? Magic, illusions or Psychology, does it really matter?”  
_No, it doesn’t_, Marc thinks and after exchanging another few glances the two brothers simultaneously take a step into the mentalist’s direction and delve into the slowly awakening Barcelonan night-life. 

_If they had only known, what this decision meant for them. _  
_If they had only known, who they got involved with_.  
_If they had only known, that this night would change their lives forever_. 

Marc Márquez Alentà isn’t a morning person. Sometimes Marc wonders if he even is a person at all or whether the MotoGP media personnel is right and he and his colleagues are all aliens secretly inhabiting and infiltrating planet earth. At least, his head feels as if it had the size of an UFO and he feels _strange_ to an amount that scratches the borders of unpleasant, as if he laid in a bubble made of transparent cotton. 

He opens one eye and then the other one, blinking at the familiar ceiling of his children’s room. He wipes his hand at the blanket and stares at his tingling fingertips for a second.  
“Weird.” He mutters and his voice is as dry as sandpaper. _Water_, he thinks, _I need some water_. Soft morning light fills the room with grey stripes, giving the green walls a yellowish hint.  
He sits up in his bed and frowns. He has no clue, how and when they got home last night.  
_Well, it’s not the first time and certainly won’t be the last_, Marc groans mentally, when nausea crawls up his stomach and settles as a stale taste in his throat. He gets to his feet and flexes his shoulder instinctively, by now used to the small prickling in the mended joints, but – “Mh.” He exhales softly, when the pain doesn’t materialize underneath his naked skin. He touches the scar ever so lightly and scratches his nose with the free hand, irritated by the missing sensation.  
_Maybe it’s a good thing_, his mind offers him and he shrugs. _It shows we’re on the up and up, Carlos and I_.  
He staggers toward the door with shaky legs, careful to be as quiet as possible when he sees Alex’s messy mob of hair sticking out from underneath the blanket on the top bunk. It’s their usual agreement of sleeping in the same room, their old room, whenever they are home.  
_It’s strange, I still call Cevera home after all these years in Andorra_, Marc thinks and feels a headache forming in his skull like rapidly forming clouds covering the sky. 

He searches for the door knob and the next second he feels pain shooting up his right foot as he hits his toe on the door frame and throbbing ache radiates from his little toe.  
“Fuck!” he hisses and leans his forehead against the cool wall, relieving his foot from his body weight and watching with a sour expression as the skin around his toe nail turns purple. 

Alex wakes up with a loud yelp.  
“Jesus, _aua_!”  
He throws back the blanket and looks at his right foot, although it’s too dark to see anything.  
Alex blinks and frowns, mouth agape and strangely dry. The taste of alcohol lingers on his tongue together with a whole lot of questions.  
“Marc?” he utters the first one that comes to his mind, when he sees his brother standing in the door frame, shirtless, hunched and visibly annoyed.  
“Yeah, sorry, I woke you up. Just bumped my foot pretty badly.”  
_Let me guess, it was your right one?_ Alex bites back the remark and wipes his tired eyes and stubbly cheeks.  
“Clumsy idiot.” He says instead and hears Marc’s dirty laughter mixed with suppressed hisses, as his older brother makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen. 

Alex lays still for another second and feels the pain slowly draining from his own toe.  
_That was strange_, he thinks nevertheless, the mentalist’s words still ringing in his ears. The rest of the previous night’s events is thickly veiled with too many cocktails and intertwining chart songs in various bars. He still remembers Javier’s laugh, though, and his long monologues about telepathy.  
“Crazy old bloke.”, he mutters into the darkness and decides to take a shower in order to start the day.  
He climbs down the top bunk and examines his toe in the bright morning light of the bathroom.  
The skin is chapped, where it (didn’t!) hit the sharp edges of the frame, and purple down to the joint of his sole. _Maybe Marc stumbled backwards and hit my toe? Wouldn’t be the first time he dragged me into his left-handed mess._  
Alex shrugs it off and rummages through the sink cabinet looking for his shaving kit.  
His reflection stares at him tiredly and Alex frowns at the weirdly stinging sensation in his shoulder. 

Marc in the meantime sets the breakfast table and starts reading the note his parents left them a third time until he realises he needs coffee to properly fuel his visual system.  
A few minutes later, he leans against the counter, a huge mug of steaming coffee in one hand and the sticky note in the other, and he can actually focus on his mother’s neat handwriting. 

  
  
“**Morning, Champs.**  
  
**Papa and me went to the mall and will be back late tonight. He promised me a dance and some cocktails. ;) **  
  
**Eggs are in the fridge. Don’t forget to call grandpa, he wants to talk to both of you about Thailand before you boys fly out. Alex, Papa says your parking is still a mess, the neighbours are furious… **  
  
**Love you both, have a great day!**  
  
**Mama**  
  
**And Marc, stay away from the cake, it’s for Sophia’s baby party at work tomorrow.**” 

Marc throws a quick glance into the fridge and whistles appreciatively at the huge creamy cake his mother conjured.  
“How many titles to I have to win to get such a cake, mum?” he asks the back of the fridge and closes the door with a grunt, before turning towards his breakfast again.

All of a sudden there is a sharp pain on his left cheek and a small shriek escapes his lips at the sensation.  
Marc curses and wipes over the stinging spot, totally puzzled as he sees a small trail of blood smearing his fingertips.  
“What?”  
He takes a look around, but there is no mosquito and it feels more like a cut than an insect bite. He feels hot blood pooling from the small wound again and quickly presses a kitchen towel against his cheekbone. He frowns at the tiny red dots on the white cotton and cocks his head.  
_It feels like a cut from shaving… but how…?!_

“Alex? Can you bring some patches along, when you come downstairs, please?” he yells and takes a sip from his coffee, the malty taste not as pleasing as it has been minutes ago. He beats four eggs into the pan and keeps checking the sharp sting spreading on the left side of his face. 

Suddenly the sound of a slamming door echoes through the house and mere seconds later Alex stands in front of him in the kitchen door, just a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his hair onto his naked chest – and a tissue firmly pressed against his left side of his face. 

Wandering from his own bruised toe to the tiny drop of blood on Marc’s cheek, Alex’s eyes widen in disbelief as he connects the indications. Marc drops the spatula in his hand, when he gets it, as well. The bacon sizzling in the pan behind him is completely forgotten, robbed of its importance (which under normal circumstances would be considered blasphemy in the Márquez household). 

They open their lips simultaneously, staring into each other’s equally ebony eyes filled with terror and their exclamation in unison reverberates from their parent’s kitchen wall.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”


	2. empirical experiments, mastering mythology and terrifying theories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks!  
A new and extra-long chapter with these two dorks.  
Have fun and tell me what you think about it!

During breakfast they try to get some order into last night’s event and clinging to his third cup of coffee, Alex keeps rearranging pieces of the puzzle.  
“The two guys we met, your former classmates… was that in the second or the third bar?”  
Marc frowns and licks bacon fat from his thumb.  
“After the second, I think. Because that must have been before you had problems getting into the club without your ID and we all vouched for you, remember?”  
Alex shrugs and then his head hits the table surface, the bang drowning out his groan.  
“Sounded hollow, mate.”  
“Fuck you.”  
The muffled groan makes Marc shake his head in laughter, although he feels the dull impact on his own forehead and wipes over the skin absent-mindedly.  
“Okay, that doesn’t get us any further. We need to find out what’s actually going on. As far as we know, when one of us hurts himself, the one feels it, right? Do you think, it only applies when it’s an accident?” He bites his lips and scans his surroundings ignoring Alex’s sceptically raised eyebrows. 

“Let’s try something.”  
Marc takes the knife from his empty plate, cleans it with a kitchen towel and rests the cool steel against the inside of his left arm.  
“Are you nuts?!” Alex picks the knife from his hand and throws it to the other side of the table as if the metal had burnt his fingers. “We’re not using ourselves as laboratory rats, Marc!”  
Marc seems genuinely disappointed as he twirls the fork in his fingers. 

Alex sighs and wipes his eyes.  
“Okay, first of all, this whole thing” he points at their feet, their faces and the kitchen with one huge wave of his hand. “is totally insane. This isn’t science, this isn’t logical. We are close, yes, very close, but it’s impossible that I cut myself in the bathroom and you start bleeding in the kitchen. There is no logical explanation for that.”  
Marc chews on his lower lip and ruffles his hair, before leaning back in his chair and looking at his brother intently.  
“So what do you think, is going on here, Alex?”  
Alex braces himself and weighs his next words as accurately as possible on the tip of his tongue. He shakes his head and whistles softly, before mimicking Marc’s posture.  
“Maybe it’s some kind of trick? Maybe we’ve been drugged or hypnotized….”  
Marc looks at his hands and shakes his head.  
“No, I have five fingers, we’re both awake. And wouldn’t the pain wake us up anyway?”  
Alex shrugs, totally lost now. Marc licks his lips and ruffles his hair again, leaving it in a complete mess.  
“You’re right, there is no logical explanation to this. I think, we’re cursed. I think, he did something to us, bewitched us or something.”

Alex is grateful, that Marc put his own thoughts into words so he doesn’t have to.  
Marc seems to wait for a reaction, because his ebony eyes are fixed on Alex’s face intently, wandering from his messy hair to the by now crusty cut on his cheek.  
“So what now?” he asks to enhance his point and Alex shrugs.  
“I have no clue. But we need to fix this as fast as possible. You’re too clumsy for this to end well.”  
Marc snorts a laugh and nearly chokes on his coffee much to Alex’s satisfaction.  
“We can’t race like this. The pressure…”  
Alex doesn’t finish the sentence and all humour in Marc’s eyes gets replaced by true worry and sincerity. He nods and bites his lip.  
“I’ll call the agency to find out Javier’s number. He has to reverse the spell.”  
It’s funny how quickly they agree on it being a curse, some kind of ancient magic bonding them together. 

It’s not surprising and still Marc marvels at their highly efficient teamwork. While Alex has gone to the nearest library with a quickly scribbled note in the back pocket of his shorts, Marc fetches his laptop and starts various online searches on Google.  
He tries to reach the office, then the management and ends up with nothing.  
Pouting and twirling the pen between his fingers, Marc leans back half an hour later.  
“Since when is it possible to delete something from the internet?” he asks the bright screen of his laptop with an exasperated sigh. He doesn’t even find the slightest trace of a phone number in connection with Javier and the Rodi Motor branch isn’t of any help, either, with the secretary brushing him off with a snide comment about not being the information office.  
Alex enters the room again and drops two arm-loads of books onto the table surface. Marc buries his head in his hands.  
“And I believed, I had the thraldom of never-ending studies behind me.”

“Surprise.” Alex grins and it fades into a pained wince as he sits down next to him, flipping open the first book with the entertaining title “introduction to telepathy – the hidden connection between minds”.  
Marc looks at his brother and sighs, when he sees his long fingers digging into his shoulder.  
“It helps, when you keep it warm. And rotate it a couple of times whenever you feel the sting. Craning your neck helps, too.”  
Alex stops still for a second, notepad and pen in his hands forgotten. Warmth radiates from Marc’s eyes and Alex can just so manage a grateful nod. _He lives with that pain everyday_, he can’t help thinking. _I can handle it for a couple of hours_. 

They end up reading all day.  
“Alright, I give up.” Marc mutters for the fifth time in an hour and Alex leans back with an exasperated sigh as well. The sun has already set and violet shadows crawl up the walls of the living room, while Alex wipes his burning eyes.  
“So we are the ugly frogs in a very weird fairytale without any reversal.” Alex mutters and closes the heavy lit of the fairytale collection in his lap, he has read for research.  
“I considered myself more the “knight in shining armour” kind of guy.” Marc smirks.  
Alex huffs and spins the pen between his fingers.  
“More like “lunatic on a bike” kind of guy.”  
“With seven world titles.”  
Alex points at himself with the pen and grins widely.  
“Or two. Including one that even the guy with his seven world titles doesn’t have.”  
Marc rolls his eyes and throws a wadded piece of paper at his brother.  
“You’re not planning on letting that one go, are you?”  
“Nah,” Alex scoffs. “I’m sticking with Grandpa on this one.”  
They grin at each other, until Alex’s head lands on the book in front of him and he groans. 

“There has to be something.”  
“What? Alex, what? And where?!” Marc grunts, his patience finally wearing thin and giving space to a murderous headache, a cramping butt and annoyance about simply everything.  
Alex sighs again, soothingly almost and skims through his notes ignoring his brother’s daggering stare. He spins the pen in his hand absentmindedly until he finds the right one.  
“There is a part in the Metamorphoses…”  
“The Papa Roach album?”  
Alex blinks at the page and then at Marc. The spinning stops.  
“I’m just going to ignore that you just said that.” He licks his lips and doesn’t. “Seriously, have you slept through every single Latin class you ever had?!”  
“More or less.”  
“You’re a disaster.”  
“Still had a better _Selectividad_ than you.”  
“By how many points? Two?”  
“Still. Older, prettier, smarter, better.”  
“Soon to be found dead in a ditch, if you keep on doing that.”

They stop still for a second until Marc shakes his head and chuckles.  
“I really wonder, why he did it, you know. Connect us? Aren’t we close enough already?”  
Alex shrugs and throws the pen back on the pile of notes and books and printouts.  
“I don’t know. I really tried to come up with an idea, but it doesn’t make any sense. Did he want to harm us or help us?”  
Marc staggers to his feet, stiff after so many hours of sheer motionlessness.  
“We still have a couple of days to figure it out. First of all, I’m starving. I’ll cook.”  
“Don’t be clumsy. It’ll be me you’re cutting or burning.”  
Marc disappears into the kitchen with a curt “Jaja.” muttered under his breath and Alex takes in the view of their day’s work, which is – _nothing. Absolutely nothing._  
He skims through some of the books again, making sure to not miss a detail, but the scientific reliability is less than questionable. Some authors denunciate it as “Intuition” and “Trust” and others praise it as a “highly advanced technology” and “mysterious form of arts”.  
Alex would place himself somewhere in the middle and he knows, Marc does as well. It’s undeniable _something_ changed and boundaries have been crossed. But magic? Telepathy? The _freakin’_ Uri Geller?! That is a whole other level and to be frank, Alex can’t read Marc’s thoughts. He doesn’t know what his brother is doing right now and that the smell of cheese means he’s cooking Mac’n’Cheese (he simply guesses that, because it’s _Marc_.)  
So why do they feel each other’s physical pain? Is it limited to clumsiness around the house or does it affect their riding incidents, as well? What about positive sensations like a warm hug from their mother?

Alex’s pondering gets interrupted by Marc poking his head around the corner, nibbling melted cheese from a wooden spoon (_It is cheat day then_).

“Do you think, we’ll know when one of us has sex?”  
“MARC!”  
“What?” a smug grin around the spoon, wiggling eyebrows. “It could be possible!”  
Alex takes a deep breath and blinks away the images in his mind.  
“Whoa, I don’t even want to think about that.”  
“Come on!” Marc prances through the room, hips swaying, million-dollar smile plastered to his lips. “Who wouldn’t want to think about sex with me?”  
Alex looks around and lifts his hand.  
“Me, your own brother? Maybe?” Marc snorts at that and stops still in the doorframe, obviously expecting an answer still. Alex throws his hands in the air and stares at his brother intently. He points at the spoon and dangerously dangling threads of cheese before opening his mouth.  
“Okay, can we agree on not having sex until this whole thing is solved?”  
Marc pouts and stares at his spoon as if it was a major disappointment. Which it isn’t, because it’s cheese. Eventually Marc shrugs and proceeds with his understanding of “cleaning”.  
“I’ll compensate with food then.”  
“God, if you’re as bad in bed as you are in the kitchen, I pity every girlfriend you ever had!”  
The by now clean spoon hits the wall behind Alex, as Marc throws it across the room – carefully aimed so it won’t hit his brother and backfire.  
“We really need to find out, what’s going on. I want my life back. Including my sex life!” 

*******

They don’t.  
Neither of them has come up with a proper idea and they are on their way to Thailand much sooner than they’d hoped to be. 

The typical buzzy milling in the garages gets to both of them in a way, which makes then antsy. A circumstance not even Marc finds amusing anymore.  
The track conditions are inconsistent, wet and dry, windy and hot. Alex’s first training session went well considering the pouring rain and the seventy-three heart attacks Marc suffers from while watching it.  
Julia next to him pats his shoulder.  
“Are you alright, son? You look nervous.”  
_Just dying of fear, that’s all_.  
“Nah, I’m good. The bike isn’t that strong in the wet. Alex’s is doing a great job.”  
“Yes, so you’re fidgeting and sweating for what particular reason?”  
Brown eyes meet his own, as Julia stares at him with open curiosity and to Marc’s greatest discomfort worry.  
“Nothing. Just the heat and humidity. I didn’t prepare for that too much this year.”  
_It’s not a lie_, Marc thinks to himself. _I was just too busy figuring out, why I’m magically connected to my younger brother_.  
Julia takes the bait, though, eyes darting back to the screen in front of them.

Two hours later it’s Marc’s turn with the MotoGP class. He does up the zip of his race suit and stretches his trembling fingers. Alex stares at him with a deep frown carved into his forehead. 

“I can’t do this.” Marc breathes and feels like vomiting into his helmet. Alex is with him and by his side faster than he can blink. His dark eyes are widened with worry, but he nods confidently at Marc, despite his smile is a little bit distorted and crooked.  
“You can. You will. Come one, Marc, nothing has changed, we’re still the same.”  
“When something happens to me, it…” _it will resonate with you. I might hurt you._  
Marc’s whispered words get stuck in his windpipe and Alex catches his cheeks with trembling palms. It’s so typical for his brother to worry about him before he even wastes a single thought to himself.  
Alex places a small kiss to his cheek, just for reassurance (_for me? For himself?_ Marc wonders), before he wipes a thumb over Marc’s cheekbone and scrapes his digits through the short hair in his neck and mumbles a soft “It won’t. Just be careful.“ His smile is more confident all of a sudden, when he _feels_ his brother’s trust, his positivity. It seeps through his fingertips and into Marc’s system like a thread of fluid, a constant stream of energy.  
Their foreheads touch and Marc’s eyes flutter shut.  
He doesn’t know, what’s going on, but it’s not a first and he’s too confused to give it a second thought.  
Alex lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes, shutting out the milling around them, focusing on his heartbeat and trying to send all his ease and serenity to Marc. 

Then he lets his hands slip from his face and hands his big brother his helmet. Marc takes a deep breath and nods. Alex made it through his sessions without a scratch, so he can do that, too. _Hopefully_, he thinks as he feels all the calm draining again after their touch broke. _I could never forgive myself, if something happened to Alex because of me_.  
“You had the trickier conditions anyway.” He manages a grin despite everything and his happy Alex doesn’t see it falter in an instead underneath the helmet. He lifts his chin for Alex to check his equipment one last time and chuckles drily.  
“Right, I have a meeting with the team.” Alex mutters half-heartedly. “I’ll see you afterwards. Get them, tiger.”

He doesn’t get them. He gets off the bike instead – in a massive high side at turn 7, a painful landing on his butt and sliding into the gravel on his lower back.  
Marc feels the rear sliding before he loses the front and the bike bucks underneath him like a wild horse. He tries to catch it and crashes against the tank with a thud that presses all air out of his lungs. Then he flips and can only see grey sky and grey tarmac alternate each other, his bike a crunched piece of orange and white metal flying through the air beside him.  
Impact.  
Then silence.  
It’s strange how the silence always gets to him first whenever he crashes. The other bikes making the corner disappear behind the next and Marc clenches his fists into the gravel, the frantic thumping of his own heart the only sound left – deafening and all the more wrong with the Honda a noiseless wreck next to him. Then nausea hits him like a second crash, the sudden standstill, the forceful stop of the smooth rhythm of braking and accelerating. Third the pain crashes over his body like a gigantic wave, tears dwell up in his eyes unhindered, visor fogged with shallow intakes of breath that still don’t reach his faltered lungs.  
He sits on his haunches and winces voicelessly.  
Everything clears up like a veil being lifted from his senses and everything gets stingingly clear – the pain shooting through his lower back, the hot air tinged with the smell of oil and fuel finally widening his lungs again. Marc sinks back and stares at his hands firmly clutching the soil with wide eyes. _Fuck, Alex_.

Alex looks at his time tables and listens to one of his engineers intently. They discuss the weather forecast and whether it would be wiser to already go out on slicks or gamble with the softs for another session. Alex just wants to point out, how the afternoon training will definitely take place during a rainfall, when a sudden pain shoots through his body as if someone twisted his spine and burnt every nerve end in his lower back.  
He yelps and presses his eyes shut.  
“Alex? Are you alright?”  
He can only lift a hand and slowly wave at José, as his watering eyes dart to one of the screens in the garage. His lungs still refuse to let air inside and he falters in his seat, as he fixes the TV. He sees a rider kneeling in the gravel and then being helped up by stewards. He sees the red and white helmet and pained ebony eyes, before he shuts the tinted visor and limbs to the ambulance.  
_Fuck, Marc_.

He stumbles to his feet and out of the room, still clenching a hand to his chest, pain in his legs so severe he bumps against the wall in the hallway, as his legs buckle underneath him.  
He gets to the toilets and manages to lock himself into the far left cubicle, before a pained huff escapes his lips – half sob, half hiss.  
“Fuck…” he mutters and claws his way through his race suit and underwear, eventually finding skin and – bruises.  
Not yet bruises, but bright red marks down his right butt cheek straight to his left flank, down to his thigh and knee caps. 

Alex storms into the treatment room without knocking and Marc doesn’t bother to remind him of basic human courtesy, because his brother surely won’t listen according to his furious snort and pointed finger.  
“You!” he shouts and now Marc does raise an eyebrow, leaning against the wall shirtless, because sitting is too damn painful at the moment.  
“Me?”  
Alex huffs, unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans, ignoring Marc’s panicked “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Alex, what the-“ it gets stuck in his throat when he sees the monstrous bruise forming on his brother’s thigh and lower back, as he performs a fluent and slow three-sixty.  
“hell.” He finishes his sentence and clasps a hand in front of his mouth. “God, Alex, I’m so sorry.”

Alex flops down on the bench next to him, jeans still open and belt jingling against the leather surface. He crunches his nose at the pain, wipes his eyes and leans back against the white wall.  
“Man, I didn’t come here to hear an apology. You don’t have to apologize. Does your ass look as terrible as mine?”  
Marc huffs and nods once instead of giving a coherent answer. His is even worse.  
“God.” Alex covers his face and groans. “This is a disaster. How are we supposed to race like this tomorrow?!”  
“Dude, I don’t even know, how to get on the bike in _two hours_. I was declared fit to ride, but… I don’t know what happened.”  
“Hey!” There is the pointed finger again, hovering between them, ebony eyes almost pitch black. The anger wins the upper hand again and Alex licks his lips frantically. “Seriously, since when do you lose the rear like that? That was a rookie mistake, Marc, a damn painful one!” 

And then Alex’s index finger touches Marc’s chest right underneath his collarbone and they both jolt, as an electrical sensation like a bolt of lightning flashes through both of them. 

_”God, you scared the living shit out of me! This looked so horrible! You look okay, but are you okay?!”_  
_”God, I’m so, so sorry. This should never have happened! Are you alright?!”_  
Anger overshadowed by nothing but pure, heartfelt, overwhelming worry and fear.  
Fear, self-doubt and even more fear woven into deeply alarming concern. 

“What-?” Marc stares down at his arms, covered in goosebumps.  
“What just happened?”  
“Did you just-?!”  
They say it in unison and Alex’s facial expressions hardens, as the realisation seeps through his skin.  
“Did you just hear my _thoughts_?!”  
Marc stretches out a hand and touches Alex’s wrist in a feathery motion, skin warm and pale against his own.  
_”Can you hear me?”_ he thinks as clearly and focused as possible. Alex frowns and licks his lips as he hears his brother’s voice clear as day reverberating through his own skull, raspy, tired and a little bit shaky, but unmistakably Marc’s. 

_”I think so. This is weird. Strangely empty…”_  
_”Screw you.”_  
_”Can you-?”_

And suddenly there aren’t thoughts anymore wavering between them, but pictures.  
2014\. The party in Cevera after their double Championship. Scenes from afterwards, when they sat in the kitchen at 2 a.m., slightly tipsy and both sipping from mugs filled with hot chocolate. Alex’s tired eyes glistening with pride and Marc’s yawn, suddenly loud in the silence of the kitchen compared to the deafening celebrations mere minutes earlier at the town hall’s square. They looked at each other and shared a smile. Not a wide grin, but a soft smile filled with pride, trust, love and everything in between.  
_”I love you.”_

Marc opens his eyes and blinks at Alex, heat creeping up his brother’s cheeks. Marc lets out a small huff, before scurrying closer and pulling him into a tight hug.  
Sitting on the bench, their height difference is levelled out and Alex rests his head on Marc’s shoulder, drawing a shaky intake of breath.  
“Just when we thought this couldn’t get any weirder, mh?”  
A sniffle is the only answer he gets and Marc takes a step back, humour sparkling in his eyes, pupils widened with pain killers coursing through his system.  
“I love you, too, but could you please pull your trousers back up?”  
Alex laughs and rearranges his jeans with trembling hands, shaking his head in disbelieve of everything and nothing at once. 

Suddenly the door flies open again and a more than furious Santi Hernandez followed by a slightly out of breath but not less angry Joan Olivé burst into the room, leaving Marc questioning the general politeness of people involved in Motorsport. 

“You two!” Santi shouts, making Alex jump and Marc cock his head. “You two got a _lot_ to explain!”


	3. Scrooged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, it’s actually been more than half a year since I’ve written something for this story. I’m sorry, you guys had to wait this long for an update, but here is one. Finally.   
We pick up, where we left off, have fun! <3

“You two!” Santi shouts, making Alex jump and Marc cock his head. “You two got a lot to explain!”

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Marc is used to a very furious Santi, although the anger usually isn’t pointed at himself but _circumstances_ (engineers, stewards, people counting laps), but Alex? Not so much.  
He shrinks to half his size next to Marc, as Santi storms into the room and points a finger at them alternately.   
“What the hell is going on here?! For days you’ve been antsy and restless and inattentive! Where is your focus for heaven’s sake?!”   
Marc, the intuitive genius he is at times, places a hand onto Alex’s arms and it has two very similar effects on his little brother. First, there is a calm spreading under Alex’s skin, which smoothens the goosebumps and his nerves alike. Second, he hears his brother’s voice clear as day in his mind _”Let me talk, Alex, I got this”_ Alex takes a deep breath and nods. 

Marc takes a step into Joan and Santi’s direction and stops still in front of his team boss.   
“I’m sorry, Santi, I really am. Let me explain, as best as I can, because I honest to God have no idea, what’s going on myself.”   
Santi’s expression darkens and his eyes bore into Marc’s like a hammer drill, as his protégé lifts his voice.   
“Alex and I are dealing with a problem. We think, we’ve been cursed and now we feel every sensation the other feels.”  
Two things happen simultaneously. Joan scoffs a sarcastic laugh and mutters “Yeah, alright…” and Alex grabs Marc’s arm as if it would detain the words from being spoken.   
_”Are you nuts?!”_ he yells at him mentally or in reality, Alex hasn’t figured it out yet and in his shock and anger he doesn’t even care.  
But Marc wriggles his arm free of Alex’s touch and Santi keeps staring into Marc’s eyes.   
Joan and Alex follow the stare-off as if it was a thrilling tennis match – Joan still grinning incredulously and Alex with widened, panicked eyes.   
Santi grumbles under his breath and nods in slow motion.  
“I believe you.” Marc tries to cover up his elation, but sighs almost inaudible.  
“You’ve never given me any reason to mistrust you, Marc, so, of course, I believe you. Tell me everything.”  
Alex helps Marc to recount the past events and even Joan has to admit that not in their wildest dreams the young pilots would muster the guts or the creativity to come up with a story like that.   
But he is a sceptic at heart and it’s his job to doubt everyone and everything around him.

Marc has sat down on the bench again and now takes a sip from a water bottle.  
Santi bats around the room with his arms crossed and greying curls bobbing.   
Alex sits cross-legged on the floor and fumbles with his shoelaces.   
Joan clicks his tongue, when Marc has ended the story and shakes his head in disbelief – milder than earlier, but still very much irritated.   
“Have you got any proof for that?”

Marc lifts an eyebrow and Alex shakes his head at his brother.

“You’re not cutting yourself, again. Is your toe healed?”  
“Yeah. Maybe a thought experiment? Give me that piece of paper.”  
And they use a doctor’s note sheet as a tool. Marc writes down a sentence and shows it to Joan and Santi. Then he places a hand on Alex wrist and his brother grins with closed eyes.  
“So you do think, that Valentino would have deserved the title in 2015?!”  
“No, it’s just what I wrote down and now you sound like an idiot.”   
Wide, ironic grin and Alex is _this_ close to punching his brother in the face.   
“Alright, alright, I believe you. What now?”  
All eyes fix on Santi and the friendly bear-like man never looked more like he would regret his career choice. At the same time he doesn’t look as surprised as Alex imagined him to be. Maybe he expected voodoo and hexes after signing a hot-headed and polarising figure as Marc Marquez, but he sure as hell looks _unimpressed_. 

Alex squints his eyes at Marc’s boss, who sighs and throws his hands in the air.   
“I have no idea. That’s not just something you can google, is it?”  
“We tried, the spectrum ranged from funny to very, very weird.”  
Marc laughs his howling laugh at that and Joan shakes his head. 

“I’ll come up with something. We’ll figure this out. Without or without that Javier Luxor’s help. In the meantime, please drive back to the hotel and _stay there_.”   
The last two words are stressed and insistent and Alex sees the true boss shining through for a moment. Apparently, Marc does as well, because he nods and clenches his teeth.   
“I’ll call you, when I know more.”  
“What about the race?”   
“We’ll figure it out.”   
Santi’s voice is so urgent and determined, that Alex’s mouth snaps close and he pulls Marc out of the room without further ado. 

“That was weird.” Alex says as they sit in a spacious taxi on their way to the hotel in Buri Ram.   
“That’s an understatement… I’ve seen Santi angry a few times over the years and I’d thought that we being cursed would unnerve him more than a misplaced screwdriver…”  
Alex nods and looks outside the window. 

The sky has cleared up while they’ve been inside and tiny fluffy clouds get chased across the firmament by a steady and humid breeze.   
They spend the car ride in silence, most of all because they don’t know what to say and probably think the same anyway and secondly because they aren’t sure how much the Thai driver might or might not understand if they splayed their theories all over the backseat of the taxi. 

They’ve got dropped off at the hotel and have made it halfway through the lobby, when Marc stops still.   
“Alex?” he says, although Alex has already come to a halt next to him, their shoulders brushing briefly and automatically Alex’s focus darts to the flyer Marc is intensely staring at.   
A thin turret next to the reception desk is filled with flyers and notes of all sorts. Hotel-own massages in the Spa, invitations to bars including free drinks (Marc snatches four of them and cackles happily) and information-cards about book readings and team building workshops.   
But one of them sticks out from the rest.   
It’s a simple black card and that plainness is, what makes it special. All the others are covered in patterns and wide letters, but this one is as black as coal. 

“Madame Dorakyll – séances, hand readings and fortune telling, specialist in relationships and spiritual guidance.”

Alex stares at his brother and keeps staring at him with squinted eyes until Marc looks up at him.   
The second his older brother opens his mouth to say “Hey, look, that could work!” Alex yells “Don’t you dare suggesting it, you moron!”

Marc looks hurt for a split second and instantly defends his trail of thoughts.   
“Hey, it’s a neat idea, maybe she can help or maybe she knows someone, who might be able to help?”  
“She’s one hundred percent a charlatan trying to make some money.”  
“Well, we’ve got plenty of that. Come on, it’s worth a shot.”  
Alex lowers his voice and withstands the urge to grab Marc and shake some sense into him.  
“Santi _ordered_ us to stay here and wait for his call.”  
“I’ve got my phone with me.”  
_Why do I have to be related to such a smartass?!_   
“Hey!”   
“Oh, sorry.” Alex lets go of Marc’s shoulders and grins. “But true.”  
“So, you coming?”

Somehow it has slipped Alex’s mind that his older brother could in fact venture out to find the psychic lady without him and it makes his mouth drop open in surprise.  
Marc raises an eyebrow and knows, he’s won.  
Alex trots back through the lobby a few steps behind him and keeps shaking his head in stubborn silence.

Marc organises a taxi and lets the driver read the address. As he does, his eyes widen and he suddenly claims to be way too busy to serve new customers.   
“I take that as a bad sign.” Alex says and still follows his brother down the street to find a new and more willing taxi driver. “Just so you know…”  
“Sulkiness never suited you, little brother.”  
Alex mumbles something incoherent and dodges a couple of children playing with a football on the sidewalk. Marc steps into the crowd and does a few tricks with the ball, giggling and beaming, before returning it to the children, who are delighted by the adult (and thanks to the Thai average height, Marc is in fact taller than the kids) playing with them.   
They cheer and Marc high-fives them, before returning to Alex and their mission again.  
Alex shakes his head again, but this time with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. _Marc being Marc._  
“Maybe it wasn’t your worst idea to do this.” He says and sees pride seeping out of every last one of Marc’s pores. “At least better than staring holes into the hotel room ceiling.”

Marc grins and waves at a taxi in a nearby parking lot.  
With bad English and loads of exaggerating hand gestures the driver finally agrees to drive them to the forest. Apparently, Madame Dorakyll’s shop is inside the rain forest outside of Buri Ram and the old Thai refused to set a foot into it.   
Marc beamed at the affirmed plan and downright jumped onto the backseat bench of the taxi.  
“Awesome!”  
_Not so awesome_, Alex thinks but follows Marc as always.   
They leave the city and soon rumble and jolt over a bumpy trail surrounded by a thick rain forest to their right and bushes and abandoned wooden shacks to their left.   
Around an hour later the driver brings the car to a halt and points at a merely visible path getting lost in between huge trees and plants.   
“Thank you, my friend.” Marc says and pays him a hefty tip.  
A moment later they watch the car roar off in the opposite direction and half a minute later they are completely alone in the wilderness. 

_Wearing shorts was a bad idea, damned mosquitos_  
Marc curses and slaps one of the insects from his calf.   
They’ve followed the path for a few minutes, but then it simply ends in bush work thick as arms and leaves the size of a pit wall sign.   
Marc catches his breath and turns around.   
“What now?” He sighs and swallows. Sweat coats his forehead, his cheeks burn from the hot humidity and he’s thirsty.   
Alex looks a little less rumbled as he steps out of a pile of tightly intertwined roots. _It’s because he’s taller_ Marc thinks and fans himself with his loose shirt, _longer legs, he needs less steps_.  
“What now?”  
Alex scans their surroundings and sees nothing but green: Trees and plants, lianas and leaves. But now that they are here, Alex doesn’t want to give up this soon and points in a random direction.  
“Let’s head this way a bit.”  
Marc looks at him for a second and they know, they’re both thinking the same without seeking the newly possible reassurance. _What if we get lost?_

Alex pushes the thought as far away as possible and searches a safe past through the wild flowers and bushes.   
“Careful, I think there’s a snake on that tree.”  
“Awesome…”

After another fifteen minutes of trudging through the Thai rainforest, Marc leans against a tree and shakes his head.   
“Nope, I’m done. I want to go back.”  
But Alex has stopped still in front of him and makes a soft noise – half hum, half gasp.   
“What?”  
As Marc pushes a few branches out of his field of vision, he sees what caused his brother’s reaction.

In front of them on one of the mightiest trees they’ve seen so far sits a tiny and crooked tree house made of nothing but wood and leaves. It clings to the wide stem like a frightened child and the dark windows are veiled with thick fabrics varying shades of red.   
A sign hangs from one of the awry floorboards, weather-beaten but still readable.   
“Madame Dorakyll”

“How the…” Marc’s mouth drops open and Alex takes a few cautious steps in the house directions.   
“Who do you think build it?”  
“I’m more worried about the poor soul having to do maintenance here.”  
Alex shrugs and points at the corded ladder reaching down to the forest soil.  
“Let’s get this over with.”  
Marc wants to say something witty or at least encouraging, but his mouth is as dry as a desert and his tongue sticks to his palate like it’s been glued to place. His hands tremble and he tries to talk himself into believing that it’s from the exhaustion of a marathon through the rain forest.   
He can’t shake the bad feeling, though and grabs the ladder hesitantly. 

As soon as they reach the cabin the door opens with a loud and eerie shriek to reveal nothing but a black hole. The strong smell of herbs and moist dust reaches their noses and Marc has to sneeze.  
Alex throws a glance at the sky and can only see dark rain clouds peeking through the thick canopy of leaves. Darkness covers them, when Marc takes a deep breath and steps into the shack. 

“Hello?” Alex whispers behind him and takes a step over the skew threshold. The door falls shut behind them with a loud thud.   
“This is not a good sign…” Alex states matter-of-factly and tries to calm his rapidly beating heart.   
“Anybody here?” echoes Marc and adds. “Madame Dorakyll?”  
Nothing happens. They both reach for their phones and a moment later at least two beams of light illuminate circles on the wooden floor. A layer of dust as thick as a finger raises up each time they take a step deeper into the cabin.   
Their eyes slowly get used to the darkness and now the smell of herbs gets even stronger. Alex frowns at a table filled with tiny glasses and phials. Their contents seem to be moving and Alex quickly averts his eyes.   
“There’s nobody here, come on, let’s leave.”   
Suddenly there is a voice wavering through the room and it doesn’t seem to have a origin. It reverberates from one wall to the other and back into their skulls.  
It’s a cold whisper, emotionless and at the same time endearing in its soft rhythm.  
“Two, but one. One, but two. Isn’t “Sahtu Hati” your motto, Marc?”   
_How does she know?!_  
“Who are you?”  
The voice continues as if the woman hasn’t heard them. Marc stares at Alex and he seems to be as shocked as he himself feels – red spots have formed on his paled cheeks, his eyes seem to be too big for his head.   
“You are connected. Two sides of the same coin, the same flesh and blood and now souls linked, too. But… oh, the pain you suffer from knowing so much and thinking not enough.”  
“She’s talking about you” Alex whispers and Marc kicks his shin.  
“Shut up!”  
They listen intently, but only the wind outside and the discontent groaning of the wood underneath their feet fills the air. 

“Madame Dorakyll?” he asks instead, louder this time and his voice shakes like the leaves outside of the windows – a strong wind tears at the branches and makes the curtains dance ghostly. 

All of a sudden there is a loud bang and in the back of a cabin a fire comes to life. Flames lick and dance around a huge caldron filled with a clear liquid.   
Both brothers yelp and Marc feels like his heart might jump out of his chest any given moment.   
The voice returns, calm and bright. It’s as if he’s taking them by the hand, like their mother has done so many times when they were little.   
Alex stares at Marc, who’s trembling from head to toe.   
“Drink it and you shall forget all your troubles.”

Alex swallows so loudly Marc can hear it over the howling wind. The circle of his torchlight shakes wildly until it fixes on the two spoons on the side table.   
“Do you really think, this is a good idea?”  
“No, but do you want to head back now?”   
It takes less a second to establish that no, they don’t.   
“Hey, Dad always said we could trust the clear liquor shots, right? And this looks pretty clear to me.”  
Alex chuckles nervously and Marc sighs.  
“I bet, I’ll constipated for days…”  
“If you are, so am I, man, take comfort from that.”

They smile at each other with doubt edged into both of their features and dip the spoons into the clear liquid. It smells of thyme and lavender and something more exotic, bitter and sweet at the same time.   
“On three…”

“One.”  
“Two…”  
“Three.”

They drink and nothing happens.   
Marc flinches at the strange taste of the brew and Alex shakes his head like a wet dog.  
“Uah, that was disgusting.”  
“How are you feeling?”  
Marc pats his chest, his stomach and hi thighs. Nothing has changed and apparently Alex feels the same.   
“Well, it was worth a shot. Although, I’ll probably have that taste stick to my tongue for _weeks_”

Marc shrugs and illuminates the way back to the cabin’s door.  
“Could have worked…” 

All of a sudden, Alex stumbles over a loose floor board and Marc reaches for his brother to steady him.   
And then hell breaks loose.

Thunder clashes and lightning flashes above their heads, when a mighty wind tears the curtains apart. The cabin shakes in its hinges, a little plaything to the forces of nature.  
“What the…” Marc has to yell over the loud rain suddenly showering down on them.   
“Marc?!”   
Alex wants to grip Marc by the hand, when a massive lightning crashes right into the cabin’s roof.   
They get thrown around by the wind, when smoke starts to raise from the smouldering splinters, which have once built the shack’s roof.   
“Alex!”   
The smoke thickens and suddenly flames dart up from the pile of burst wood, devour them eagerly. Alex covers his mouth with his shirt and lunges towards the door.   
Another gust of wind makes him stumble and this time Marc is able to grab his brother’s arm to prevent him from falling back into the fire, which already consumed the caldron and kitchen table.   
“We have to get out of here, come on!”

They reach the door and yank it open. Rain pours down on them and soaks them both to their bones in mere seconds, as they stare down onto the forest soil. It’s impossible to see anything in the darkness surrounding them and Alex gulps frantically.   
“The ladder’s gone…”  
“That evil witch!” Marc screams, as he can’t contain his anger and desperation any longer.   
Alex wants to pat his brother’s arm, bump his shoulder – do anything to reassure him that everything will be alright, when a ridiculously massive gust of wind tears the floor away from beneath their feet. 

They tumble over the small patio uncontrollably and finally over the edge of the long boards. 

Maybe Marc screams, maybe he doesn’t. The world goes silent for a moment, when he hits the ground. 

For a moment, all his thoughts and emotions get drained from his system. He’s just so capable of keeping his eyes open and staring at the black sky.   
His senses return slowly and hesitantly – all he knows is that he lays on the cold and wet ground with all air pressed out of his lungs and stinging pain searing up his left leg.   
“Augh, fuck!” he grumbles breathlessly and turns onto his stomach.   
“Alex?!” he yells and coughs. Smoke’s filling the air relentlessly, the rain forms a loud orchestra of pitter-patter on the densely overgrown forest floor.   
“ALEX?!”  
Then he finally spots him and despite the biting smoke and pain a wave of elation washes over him.  
And while the pouring rain intensifies once more, Marc crawls over to where Alex fell to the ground and turns his brother onto his back. He brushes leaves and smaller branches off of his brother’s chest and crouches down next to him. His jeans is soaking and water runs down is face, but Marc couldn’t care less. All he focuses on is Alex laying on the cold forest ground, with his eyes closed and a nasty wound on his temple. Marc swallows past the huge lump in his throat and the pain in his ankle and takes Alex’s head into his hands, wipes his thumbs over his cheeks.

“Alex? God, Alex, please, look at me! Are you okay? Alex?!” 

And Alex opens his eyes to meet a panicked face hovering over him. Hair is plastered to temples like sticky black water and he bursts into tears, as Alex frowns and groans.   
“Here, careful, slowly…”  
Alex blinks again, but his surroundings make as little sense as him lying on the floor in the middle of a rainforest. And that guy…

“God, Alex, I’m so glad, you’re okay, come on, let’s go home.”  
And Alex utters the first words that come to his mind and watches the other man’s features derail in an agonizing motion.

“Excuse me, but… who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I _do_ love me a good cliff hanger, don't you? :P   
Thank you for reading,  
cheers!


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